“Patricia van Frentier. Pleased to meet you.”
With a deep bow, Patricia greeted her classmates.
There weren’t many students at the academy, and it seemed they were divided by age.
Patricia was to study with those who were currently fifteen years old.
Each class had about fifteen students.
Normally, students attended from the age of thirteen to eighteen, spending about five years here, so a transfer student like Patricia was a rare sight.
She felt suspicious stares from the girls, and complicated looks from the boys.
Most of the girls were commoners, and probably had no idea how someone like Patricia had ended up here.
But the boys were different.
They were nobles—there was no way they wouldn’t recognize the name Frentia.
That’s why she could hear them still whispering in low voices.
“That’s the former Crown Prince’s fiancée, isn’t it?”
“Now then, please take your seat.”
The one who spoke was the teacher in charge of the class.
He looked to be in his early twenties and seemed strict.
His long gray hair was tied back, and his green eyes were hidden behind rimless glasses.
Urged on by him, Patricia sat in the very back, at the far end of the row.
“Let’s continue from where we left off yesterday.”
The sound of pages turning, the scratching of pens, and the teacher’s voice echoed in the room.
‘So this is what lessons are like’, Patricia thought, her heart swelling with joy and anticipation as she opened her textbook—but then she paused.
‘Where did “yesterday’s continuation” begin?’
She considered asking the teacher, but it would be impolite to interrupt the lesson for something so trivial.
Clive and Heine, whom she knew, were seated closer to the front—too far to ask.
‘What should I do…’ she wondered, glancing sideways.
Next to her sat a single female student.
Her long hair, so dark it was almost green-black, was braided down her back and reached her waist.
She wore black-rimmed glasses, and she was furiously scribbling notes—likely writing down everything the teacher said.
Patricia got the feeling she was documenting every word.
Though she felt hesitant to ask, she decided there was no helping it this time and spoke up.
“Excuse me. What page are we on in the textbook right now?”
“—”
The girl whipped around with surprising speed, her expression questioning.
It was as if she wanted to ask, “Why would you need to know that?”
Patricia hurriedly explained, “I, um, just transferred in today.”
“I know. I heard. …Page 165.”
“Ah, thank you very much.”
Relieved that she could finally follow the lesson, Patricia eagerly turned to the right page.
It appeared to be a history lesson, about the origins of the Lorelan Empire.
As she read, a sense of nostalgia struck her.
As a Crown Princess candidate, studying history was mandatory, so Patricia had devoured historical texts as bedtime reading since childhood.
She’d been able to read books that were important cultural treasures, usually inaccessible to most.
In that sense, being a Crown Princess candidate hadn’t been so bad.
“In the year 982, the Second Month of Flowers, the army led by His Highness Crown Prince Arthur numbered five thousand. In contrast, the Turan army to the northeast, not yet part of our country, had nine thousand. The battle was fierce. After about three months of skirmishes and standoffs, in the Second Month of Sun, His Highness employed a certain tactic to claim victory against Turan. Does anyone know what that tactic was?”
This country divides its year into four seasons, each with three months.
The three months of Flowers, Sun, Fruit, and Ice—twelve months in total.
Passing through the still-chilly three months of Flowers, it was in the sunny three months of Sun that the Crown Prince made his move.
It was a famous story, but no one raised their hand.
That victory was written in the textbook, but the details of the tactic required deeper research.
After all, such details weren’t necessary for understanding the broad flow of history.
Patricia considered raising her hand if no one else did—but the girl beside her was even faster.
“Rox, go ahead and answer.”
“Yes. His Highness the Crown Prince used the Yae Tree. The Yae Tree grew only in Turan, but one night while burning deadwood for campfires, some of our soldiers experienced poisoning symptoms. Some had trouble breathing, others lost vision, some felt numbness in their limbs. Realizing this, His Highness waited for a windy night when the breeze blew toward the enemy camp and had his men burn the trees, letting the smoke waft toward the Turan soldiers.”
“Exactly. The Yae Tree only releases harmful substances when burned—its leaves are sometimes used in medicine. The Turan soldiers inhaled the smoke, fell ill, and could not fight properly, resulting in their defeat. Despite the difference in troop numbers, it’s said the Crown Prince suffered only about five hundred casualties.”
Praising the girl for her answer, the teacher told her to sit.
Though she tried not to show it, once she sat down she pumped her fist in victory several times, unable to contain her delight.
She must have been overjoyed.
Patricia understood—she’d done the same, secretly celebrating every time she could answer the Royal Tutor’s questions as a child.
She felt a certain kinship with this girl, and as the teacher finished writing on the board and turned to face them again, Patricia nodded slightly in agreement.
“By the way, this defeat caused Turan to lose their country, but at that time they made a demand of us. Does anyone know what that was?”
“…”
Patricia tilted her head, thinking, The questions have gotten rather specialized.
The previous question, too, wasn’t something essential for the general flow of history.
All the teacher’s questions required someone who had pursued independent study beyond the textbook.
“No one?”
“Yes.”
Seeing that no one else volunteered, Patricia raised her hand and caught the teacher’s gaze.
She noticed then how powerful his eyes were.
Meeting his gaze sent a jolt through her, even though nothing was really happening.
“…Frentia. You may answer.”
“Yes. Turan’s demand was that their traditional dance and song never be lost. Turan’s unique performing arts were their history and their treasure, so the Dance Clan married into the Laurerlan Nobility. Some of the traditional dances in our country today are said to have come from Turan’s arts.”
“Exactly. Sit down.”
Patricia bowed lightly and took her seat.
Most people probably didn’t know the meaning behind the dances.
But Patricia understood their origins and the messages they were meant to convey.
Studying truly was wonderful—the more knowledge one had, the more it became an ally.
Satisfied, she grinned in triumph, when she suddenly sensed a gaze from beside her.
“…?”
“—!”
She turned toward the girl from before and their eyes met for an instant, but the girl quickly looked away.
Even so, she kept sneaking glances at Patricia.
It was odd behavior, but for now Patricia prioritized her studies and continued taking notes.
What a fun time this was.
Apparently, if she didn’t understand something, she could ask the teacher.
Since the teacher seemed to know even the most obscure details, perhaps there would be things even Patricia didn’t know.
Unable to stop herself from grinning, she pressed her cheeks with her hand as she held her pen.
‘To think such joyful days would continue from now on—what could be better?’
While Patricia basked in her happiness, the girl beside her watched with a somewhat perplexed expression—but Patricia was too elated to notice.